Since arriving back from California, land of marvelous sushi and friendly peeps, I've been suffering from/recovering from a nasty strep throat infection. It felt like someone was stabbing my neck with an ice pick. It made me weep, literally, when I swallowed. It was miserable. Today, however, it merely feels like someone is tickling my tonsils lightly with a stiff-bristled brush (yesterday it was a wire brush, so obviously I am improving rapidly), and my voice has a sexy-raspy quality to it. (Until I "Ahem" and clear it. Phlegm is very unsexy.)
Anyway, I have not been feeling very writey this week, which is a shame because I have a lot inside my head. Also, I probably should have been writing instead of watching tons of crap TV. (Did you know there's a new Scooby-Doo, with a new theme song and everything? It sounds like Green Day.) My days were turning into a masochistic lab experiment, whereby unseen forces were assessing just how long it would take before isolation + searing pain + laugh tracks and inane blabber about B-list celebrities' fashion icons turned me into a blithering, drooling pile of batshit-crazy goo. Thank you, Zithromax, for saving me from that ignominious fate.
This afternoon, it's back to the bookstore. I've missed it so. And if I find out who infected me, I swear I'm going to stab him or her in the throat with an ice pick. Or make them watch E! for a few hours. One or the other.
Posted by thevieve at November 9, 2006 11:49 AM